


Vindiciae

by trappednightingale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Triggers, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trappednightingale/pseuds/trappednightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter the cost, Dean would always protect his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Trigger warnings for child abuse, rape, molestation, pedophilia, paternal incest, eventual fraternal incest.

When it started, Dean was too young to understand it. For all he knew, it was just another stage of ‘hunter training’. It felt strange, though, and even at age five, he knew he didn’t want Sammy to go through it. So when Dad would call his name in _that_ tone, Dean always made sure to lock Sammy in the bathroom, only letting him out once it was all over and Dad was asleep.

 

And for the most part, it would work. Every night, he would take the beatings that weren’t _quite_ like the normal training, would let Dad touch him in that strange way, wouldn’t cry when Dad would yell, and Sammy was left out of it.

 

It was at his first elementary school that he first heard the word ‘abuse. It was on the lips of almost every teacher he interacted with, whispered when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. But it wasn’t until the words ‘poor thing’ and ‘victim’ were added to the mix that Dean realized that this thing his Dad did made him seem weak, pathetic, pitiable. For the first time, he was being called a ‘victim’, a word he’d previously thought meant ‘someone who’d been hurt by the dark forces’. He didn’t like it one bit, and those words only strengthened his resolve to make sure Sammy would never be called them. He had to protect his brother.

 

*          *          *

Once Sam was talking- his first word was Dean- walking, and potty trained-one of Dean’s proudest moments-, Dean stopped protesting the treatment altogether. He still made sure to lock his brother in the bathroom, never explaining what was going on, just giving him some toys and a blanket and leaving with a prayer that Sam wouldn’t hurt himself during his absence. When he would come back and unlock the door, hours later, his baby brother would reach up with his tiny toddler hands and pout and sniffle until Dean would pick him up and hug him tightly. It was this single innocent gesture that made everything worth it for the oldest Winchester boy.

 

Despite the pain and the shame Dean endured, every night he was able to greet Sammy with his head held high, proud he was able to protect the only piece of innocence left in his life.

 

*          *          *

Time passed, and they moved more frequently each year. Sammy started school, and of course, he loved it. But as he grew older, Dean found the secret was harder to keep from his brother. He’d long since learned how to hide most of the bruises, to lie to people at school about the ones he couldn’t conceal, but he knew he couldn’t keep his brother in the dark forever. And that knowledge hurt worse than the nightly beatings.

 


	2. Normalis

Sam Winchester was five years old when he realized that his family wasn’t quite like everyone else’s. Unlike everyone else in his kindergarten class, his family moved a lot, and instead of a ‘Dad’ and a ‘Dean’, almost all of his classmates had a ‘Dad’ and a ‘Mom’. He asked Dean about it once, and Dean had just hugged him tight and said that their mom wasn’t there anymore. He asked why they moved so much, but Dean had just shrugged and said it was the ‘Winchester way’. Whatever Dean said was Sam’s law, his religion. In his mind, that made him better than any ‘Mom’ could ever possibly be. Dean was his brother, his world, his everything. None of his classmates had a Dean, so Sam felt like the luckiest kid alive.

*          *          *

Sam Winchester was eight years old when he realized just how wrong everything was in his less-than-normal family.

 

Dean was walking him home from school, hand gripped tightly around Sam’s much smaller one- even though he was more than capable of crossing the street by himself, thank you very much- and they had just reached the driveway when Sam noticed the car- _‘Impala, Sammy.’_ , his inner Dean chided him- and tugged on his brother’s hand excitedly.

 

“Look, Dean! Dad’s home early!”

 

His older brother’s grip tightened, and he could see his brother visibly tense up as they opened the door. Sam saw beer bottles scattered around the couch, and something was wrong, _different_ with Dad. He seemed darker, like the "monsters" Dean said the salt circles protected them from, and Sam looked up at his brother in confusion.

 

“Dean? What’s going-?”

 

“Sammy, get to the bedroom and lock the door. Don’t open it till I tell you, got it?” Dean’s voice was low, commanding, and Sam immediately nodded in assent.

 

“Sam-” his father’s voice stopped him in his tracks, but Dean shoved him roughly.

 

“I said go, Sammy!”

 

Not looking back, Sam scurried to the bedroom, closing and locking the door, just like his brother told him to. He took his backpack to the desk and pulled out his notebook so he could finish his spelling homework. He was barely through the A’s when he heard the breaking of glass against the door.

 

“Dean?” Sam asked worriedly, going to the door and pressing his ear against it. His hand had barely touched the handle when his brother’s voice came gruffly from the other side.

 

“Don’t even think about it. Go do your homework. Everything’s fi-“ the end of his sentence was cut off with a strangled cry.

 

“Dean!”

 

“Stay in there!” his brother yelled back, and Sam heard another slam, then the sound of ripping fabric. He slumped down to the floor, ear still pressed firmly against the door.

 

Never in his life did Sam think he would miss the annoying sound of the bathroom fan in his nightly routine. He thought it was something Dean did to lull him to sleep. It never occurred to him that the fan had been drowning out something, a sound so awful, Sam prayed he would never have to hear it again.

 

The sound of Dean in pain. No, his brother didn’t cry out again, didn’t even sob, but Sam was old enough to recognize the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the sound of his brother fighting back cries of pain.

 

And it broke his heart.

 


	3. Ostium

The clock on the nightstand read 10:18 when Sam heard the familiar knock-pattern and his brothers voice.

 

"Sammy? You still awake?" his voice was rough, and Sam felt his chest tighten.

 

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here." he replied quietly, not moving from his position sitting in the floor, ear and hand pressed against the door. He could hear Dean slump to the floor, could feel the pressure against the door that told him that Dean was leaning against it.

 

"You okay?"

 

Sam wanted to scream 'no', to tell his brother that there was nothing okay about their situation. But instead, he breathed an almost-silent 'yeah' against the wood of the door.

 

"I never... You weren't supposed to hear any of that. I wanna protect you from all that, from everything."

 

"I can't stay oblivious forever. " Sam mumbled.

 

Dean laughed darkly, shaking the door. "No. No you can't. But I wanted you to stay oblivious for as long as possible." he sounded so tired, worn out from what he'd just endured.

 

"Dean, I'm unlocking the door, okay?"

 

"Yeah, Sammy. That's okay. He's gone now, you're safe." the last part sounded like Dean was trying to convince himself that it was true. "Go to bed, Sammy. I'm gonna...clean up. I'll be right in."

*          *          *

Dean took his time cleaning himself up, making sure any and all traces of that _man_ were wiped from his body before pulling a change of clothes from underneath the sink, where he’d gotten used to storing them after years of this _routine_ of theirs. It made him sick to realize that this had become a routine, that it wasn’t just a random happenstance; it was just another part of the day. It was just so wrong, and he needed Sam to stay as far away from it as possible. If Dean had his way, he’d keep Sam out of the family business, too, but he knew that just wasn’t practical. He’d have to start training in the next few years, no matter how much Dean protested.

 

Double-checking his reflection in the mirror, Dean left the bathroom and quietly walked into the bedroom where Sam was already curled up on the bed, facing the wall. The quiet sniffles told Dean that Sam was still awake, and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

“Sammy…”

 

“Why does he hurt you Dean? Dad…. He’s good, right? So why did he-“ Sam’s sentence was cut off with a sob, and Dean hesitantly placed a hand on his brother’s shaking shoulder. The youngest Winchester rolled over and threw his arms around Dean, gripping him tightly as he cried.

 

“Hey, Sammy. It’s alright. Everything’s okay—”

 

“No, Dean. No it’s not!” Sam pulled away, anger and hurt all over his face. “There’s nothing okay with this, Dean. He’s _hurting_ you. What part of that is _okay_?”

 

“The part where it’s not happening to you.” Dean replied gruffly, pulling his brother to his chest. “Listen, Sammy. I can take this. I have been for a long time now, and it’s not going to change just because you know. If anything, it’s gonna be harder to keep you safe. The only way I’m gonna be able to do that is if you listen to me, got it? I tell you to run, you run. I tell you to lock yourself wherever, you do it. Alright?”

 

Sam just nodded, crying softly into Dean’s shirt and gripping it in his hands.

 

“Sammy, I will protect you. Always.”

 

A few minutes later, Sam had managed to cry himself to sleep and Dean slowly tucked him back in, chuckling when his brothers fingers still gripped his shirt tightly, even in his sleep. He laid down next to his brother, his fingers drifting through Sam’s hair. The sound of his brother’s breathing slowly lulled him to sleep after he whispered a fervent prayer.

 

“Please. Whatever’s up there. Let me keep him safe.”

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by the lovely Megan~   
> You can find her at   
> http://me-again5.tumblr.com/


	4. Intervallum

Dean had spent Sam’s entire life trying to protect him from the darkness their dad fought on a daily basis. He told him that salt protected him from the monsters under the bed when he was little, not blending  too much truth and reality, trying to keep them separate until the time came to tell him the truth.

 

Unfortunately, that time came when Sam was eight years old, and so his training began. Dad would be gone for longer periods of time, leaving Dean in charge of Sammy’s training for the most part. He didn’t mind, though. The more his dad was gone, the less chance he had to hurt him, or Sammy. Plus, when he was in charge of the training, Sammy was less likely to get hurt.

 

Sometimes, it was breathtaking how strong his little Sammy was getting. Even though he didn’t like it, he was a damn good shot, and could hold his own when they sparred. A few more years and Dean wouldn’t have to go easy on him anymore. It was almost a sad thought. 

 

***


	5. Oscula

Dean was thirteen and her name was Katherine. Or maybe it was Katrina. He didn’t really remember much about her except that she was in one of his classes and that after school one day she kissed him. It was completely out of the blue and felt strange and if Dean was being completely honest, he wasn’t too sure he liked it. But he kissed her back anyway before hurrying off, seeing his brother at the bus stop waiting for him. Sam wouldn’t stop asking about it, even after they’d gotten home that night.

And if he was treated a bit rougher that night, well. That was between him and Dad, and had nothing to do with Ka-whatever, and it definitely had nothing to do with his Sammy.

Because that’s what Sam was- _his_ Sammy. He would never be anyone else’s, Dean would never allow that. He was Sam’s protector, and Sam was his light. They needed each other, and that was all that mattered. It was all that had ever mattered.

*          *          *

“…and ya gotta be careful when dealing with those, cause they can trick you really easily. I’ve never fought one, but Dad took down like six of em back in Ohio and-”

 

“How can you do that?” Sammy _-no, Sam-_   interrupted.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Talk about Dad like that… like he’s the greatest man in the world.”

 

“Sammy… what Dad does… it’s really important. He saves lives, and in a couple of years, we’ll be able to do that too.”

 

“You’ve already done it.” Sam muttered in retort, folding his arms angrily.

 

“Yeah, once or twice, but I gotta look after you, so I don’t get to do it as much.” Dean moved to sit next to his brother on the floor. “C’mon, Sammy. What’s this about?”

 

“I just don’t think Dad’s as awesome as you think he is.”

 

Dean sighed, not looking forward to yet another pointless argument. The nine-year-old had started doing this; frequently questioning Deans loyalty to their father, and

never really explaining why he was so unwilling to trust the Winchester patriarch. Dean guessed it probably had something to do with what Sam had discovered that night, but over a year had passed and they had never really discussed it. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be lucky enough to avoid that conversation this time around.

 

“I know he’s not perfect, but he’s _Dad._ And he does some seriously awesome stuff. He’s one of the best hunters in the country.”

 

“Yeah, well, he’s one of the worst dads.” Sam refused to meet Dean’s gaze, staring resolutely at the floor.

 

“He does what he can. It hasn’t been easy, raising us without Mom, and trying to find the thing that killed her.”

 

“…he still hurts you, doesn’t he?” Ah, there it was. The question that he knew Sam had been wanting to ask since that night over a year ago, but never had. It was Dean’s turn to look away now, even as his baby brother’s gaze moved over him.

 

“He’s not around enough anymore for it to matter—”

 

“Of course it matters! He’s hurting you and you’re _defending_ him!”

 

“It’s just something I have to deal with. So just drop it, alright?”

 

Sam didn’t look happy about it, but he stayed silent, grabbing one of the books Dean had been showing him earlier and feigning interest in the pages. But Dean knew that was far from the end of the conversation, even if it was over for now.


	6. Vigilo

Sam was eleven years old when he got his first gun. Their father had just gotten back from a two week hunt, and they were helping him unpack when he pulled the Ithaca 37 out of the trunk and tossed it at him.

 

“Teach him how to load it.” John directed this at Dean. “Just salt rounds for now.”

 

Sam looked at the gun with a mix of awe and horror, but John merely patted him on the head.

 

“It’s the mark of a Winchester man, Sam. Another year or so and you’ll be ready to go on hunts with us.” The words were probably meant to be encouraging, but they just filled him with dread. “Now, I’m gonna go to the store to get some supplies. We’ll pack up and hit the road tomorrow.”

 

Dean stayed silent even as John left, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder as they headed inside, probably a tighter grip than necessary. Only once they could no longer hear the roar of the engine did Dean relax, albeit only slightly.

 

“Dean..?” Sam asked worriedly, but the eldest Winchester merely smiled and shook his head.

 

“Nothin to worry about Sam. C’mon. Let’s start packing.”

 

Sam followed silently behind as they walked into their shared room and placed the gun in the middle of his bed, giving it a wary look. With a sigh, he pulled the two duffel bags out from underneath his bed, then tossed one to Dean before going to the closet and pulling out what few clothes were hanging there. He looked over at his brother, who started wrapping his few weapons in some of his heavier clothes, and silently wondered what he’d conceal his own gun in since his clothes were much smaller than the weapon itself.

 

“Here.” Dean laughed and tossed him one of his jackets. “Use one of mine. You’re way too scrawny to give that any real coverage.” He nodded to the gun, still laying in the middle of the bed.

 

“I’m not scrawny!” Sam protested, which only caused Dean to laugh even more. Crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, he huffed “Just you wait. One day, I’m gonna be even taller than you.”

 

“Oh, that’ll be the day.” Dean grinned, ruffling Sam’s hair. “Now wrap that thing up, kiddo. I’ll teach ya how to load it once Dad leaves for his next hunt.”

 

“Yeah, whenever we get to where we’re going.” Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled up at his brother. That was the one thing that never changed, no matter where they went, or what they were tracking, Dean was always looking out for him. And as he saw the light reflecting off of the amulet Dean wore every day, Sam knew that would never change. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, Sam threw his arms around Dean’s waist.

 

“Dweeb.” Dean chuckled, placing a hand on his brother’s head.

 

The moment was ended, however, as they heard the door slam.

 

“Damn.” Dean cursed and pushed Sam behind him.

 

“Dean...?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.” Dean forced a smile, then nodded back towards his barely-packed bag. “Mind taking care of that for me?”

 

“Y-yeah. I can do that.” Sam refused to meet Dean’s gaze. His brother sighed, then pulled him back into a firm hug.

 

“You can’t worry about this stuff, Sam. It’ll eat ya alive if you let it.” Sam felt a firm kiss placed against his forehead, and just like that, Dean was out the door, closing it behind him. Sam allowed himself a moment of dread, of knowing what was coming next and hating the thought of it, before pulling himself together and walking to the door. Slowly, he crouched down, then opened it a crack, just big enough for him to see through.

 

It killed him, to watch Dean go through this night after night, but seeing it only strengthened his resolve.

 

“We’ll get out of here, Dean. I promise, I’ll find a way.” He whispered, heart breaking in tandem with the first bottle breaking against the wall.

 

*          *          *

 

Dean grimaced as the first blow landed across his face, then his shoulders, his ribs, his arms. The blows went on and on, but he gritted his teeth. _/For Sammy. I can endure this for him./_

 

Sammy. His baby brother. The only person in this miserable world he cared about, and the only thing worth protecting. If it was for Sam, Dean could go to Hell and back. He knew it bordered on obsession, his love for his brother, but it was all he knew. One of his earliest memories was meeting his brother for the first time. It had filled him with a sense of awe, that this tiny creature was _his_ brother, his flesh and blood.

 

 _“You’ll take care of your brother, won’t you, Dean?”_ his mother smiling down at him as he peered into the basket of the sleeping newborn.

 

 _“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back. Now, Dean! Go!”_ His father shouting at him as their house went up in flames, the silent order of _“Take care of your brother”_ understood.

 

And now, over ten years later, those orders had become his life. Take care of Sammy. If he’d had it his way, Sam would never have found out about what they hunted, or about how their father hurt him. It was too dark, too wrong for Sam to know about. And yet Sam took it all in stride. Although his fear was apparent, he still held his head high and his gun steady as they trained together.

 

Beautiful, brave Sammy.

 

Yes, for _his_ Sammy, he could endure anything.


End file.
